I Will Possess Your Heart
by Queen of the Crossroads
Summary: Crowley makes a decision, and when the King of Hell makes decisions, it tends to be very bad news for Castiel. How will he go about making the Winchester's angel his own? Will Sam and Dean be able to stop him? Crowley/Castiel, Dean/Castiel undertones. Season 6 AU.
1. The Heart of the Matter

_**I Will Possess Your Heart**_

**Chapter 1**

_A/N: First time author, here! Just thought I'd try my hand at fanfiction. This takes place in season six, when Crowley and Castiel are working together and the Winchesters think that Crowley is dead. Warnings... Crowstiel is obviously the main pairing, there's references to Destiel, and Winchester bashing (done solely by Crowley - but that's not that unusual, is it?). Anyway, enjoy, and don't be shy with concrit! _

* * *

Crowley's not sure when he makes the decision, not really. Maybe it's when they seal their contract to work together with a kiss that he has to admit is quite memorable, in spite of Castiel's inexperience. Maybe its after the damned angel throws him up against a wall in his study after an argument. Maybe its when he's watching Castiel sitting there in the little torture chamber he's been spending an inordinate amount of time in since starting his partnership with him. He's just staring off into space, eyes a curious shade of sky blue dancing over the blood spattered walls.

He's got sex appeal, he'll admit it. So, one day, when he's carving up a demon just for the hell of it (he does grow oh so tired of staying on the down low) he decides that he might as well make himself a little side mission while Castiel busies himself keeping those little denim clad fuckers out of the loop and searching for a way to open Purgatory. He's going to make that angel his. The most delicious part? Taking him from Dean Winchester. That angel, for whatever reason, seemed to be hopelessly in love with the idiot human, the Hunter that had been a pain in his arse since the moment he'd had the displeasure of meeting him. However, he can admit to being slightly amused by how deep in denial both of them are about it - Castiel, being an angel, technically has no gender, but since Dean no doubt looks at him and sees a man, the oldest Winchester tries his hardest to shield himself underneath a cloak of surly masculinity.

Moron. Anyone who hasn't been blinded in one eye can see that he's hiding a rainbow tie-dye under the flannel, with how hilariously, pathetically, possibly erotically co-dependent he was on both his brother, Bobby, and Castiel. Now, the key was just eroding that trust, and then when the angel finally came to the stunning realization that the Winchesters were in it for themselves, not for him - then, he'd swoop in, and he'd take poor, broken-hearted Castiel and turn him into what a true partner should be - woefully submissive to his will. Castiel was the bottom in this working relationship, and he intends fully for it to stay that way.

He wants loyalty - and a little more, perhaps. Oh yes, that would be the best part. Making the angel fall hopelessly in love with him. He'd always had a talent for that. This vessel was particularly adept when it came to matters of the heart. Others, not his own, of course. Love was something he wants nothing to do with. Not that demons can't feel love, because they can. Everything that lives can feel love, attachment. Even the so-called manifestations of evil. Humans, angels - the lot of them assume demons are pure evil. How tragically mistaken they are. There is nothing pure about a demon. Evil and good, they aren't absolutes. Demons, although more inclined to be self-serving, sadistic, power-crazed, homicidal maniacs, have the potential for good. For love. But for him, love for anyone other than himself looks like a very foolish move to make. Unlike humans, demons feel no inner desire or longing for love. For a good roll in the hay on a rainy day, absolutely, but love? No. Not in the slightest, especially for him. He suspects angels of being the same way, but since Castiel has been locked out of heaven and spent most of his time with the Winchester brothers, the poster boys for "All You Need is Love" he is tempted to go out on a limb and say that the need has been brought to life in Castiel, most likely focused on the shorter of the brothers. Now, all he has to do is turn that need around on him. It's going to take them a bit to find Purgatory and unlock the ancient soul prison, so it certainly opens up his schedule, thanks to his house arrest.

The next time Castiel appears, this time in his office, he sets his plan in action. It's time to test the waters. They exchange business, first and foremost. The Winchesters are oblivious to the fact that he's really back. The search for how to get inside of Purgatory is so far fruitless. They discuss a few ideas for awhile. He pops open a bottle of Glencraig - aged thirty years, naturally, and offers Castiel a glass. Castiel shakes his head from where he's seated in an ornate arm chair set in front of Crowley's desk.

"I do not drink," Castiel said, signature frown and scrunched eyebrows donned on his features.

"Oh, what a load of garbage," he says in response, setting the glass down in front of Castiel and gesturing at it. "Didn't you get positively smashed last year when Daddy Dearest went MIA?"

Castiel tenses at the mention of his Father. "How do you know about that?"

"Give me some credit, sparkles," he replies, taking a deep sip of his Craig, reveling in the heat that courses down his throat. "I keep up with what's going on in the world, especially when it comes to my favorite angel."

He can see the gears churning in Castiel's mind as he tries to formulate a response, but instead the angel reaches forward and grabs the glass of alcohol, taking an experimental sip. Score one for Crowley, he thinks with a sense of self satisfaction. Being a bad influence was so much fun. "This is... acceptable."

"Remind me to buy you a thesaurus," Crowley says in response, finishing off his own glass and pouring another. "So, tell me - angel to demon, how is this working for you?"

Castiel looks confused by the question. For a borderline-omniscient being that's millenniums old, he seems to be confused a ridiculous amount. It's adorable, really. And a bit comforting - at least the demons had that on the angels. They may be able to kill people with a snap of their fingers, but at least he knew the ins and outs of conversation and social skills.

"I don't understand what you mean."

"Of course you don't," Crowley responds. "I mean, how do you feel about our partnership?"

A moment of silence from Castiel. "I strongly dislike lying to Sam and Dean, but this is a... necessary evil."

"You don't have to convince me," he says with a shrug of his shoulders, sipping at his drink contemplatively. "I'm just worried that one smoldering look from Squirrel and you'll turn on me and spill your little heart out."

Castiel takes another sip, deeper this time. "I believe that it would hurt Dean to know that I was hiding things from him. I do not wish to hurt him."

"Is that your way of saying you'll keep those luscious lips of yours sealed?" he asks, arching an eyebrow at his partner in crime. "For the benefit of your human pets?"

Castiel's brow furrows. "They are not my pets. They're my family."

_Oh, how adorable._

"Family," Crowley repeats, a smirk working its way onto his features. "Right."

Castiel's frown deepens. "You wouldn't understand." Crowley shakes his head, tutting at the him like he's a small child.

"So quick to write me off. I think I understand your relationship with the Winchesters better than you do, sweetheart," he says. Coming up with overly feminine nicknames for the angel never got old.

"A demon like you?" Castiel asks, a note of condescension creeping into his gravelly voice. "No. You couldn't possibly-"

"They're using you," Crowley interrupts what was sure to be a tear-jerking, self-righteous pontification. "To them, you're a tool in the war against evil - as if something like that could ever be beaten. Do you think they'd give a damn about you if you couldn't teleport them, magically heal them, bring them back from the dead, basically be their Holy Servant Boy?"

"I was turned temporarily human last year, shortly before Sam shut Lucifer back in his cage," Castiel argues. "They didn't abandon me. They paid for me to get to South Dakota, they did everything for me when I was at my weakest."

"Yes, because they needed extra hands against Lucifer. Beggars can't be choosers," he points out. Castiel responds by draining the rest of his glass. Excellent. He's getting to him. "If they didn't need you, you wouldn't be on Team Free Will. End of story."

"I have a... bond, with Dean. He is my best friend."

"Your naiveté would be touching, if it weren't so stupid," Crowley replies with a low chuckle. "Haven't you taken notice that everyone that comes in contact with the Winchesters serves their purpose, then dies bloody? They use people, angels, demons - they use everyone up until their a husk." He smiles ruefully. "Lovely strategy, really. I respect good work when I see it."

"You're wrong," Castiel growls, setting the empty glass back down and rising from his chair. "Sam and Dean would stand by me no matter what, just as I would stand by them."

"Then why aren't they standing by you now, hmm? You don't believe that they'd help you open Purgatory. You don't trust that they'd be on your side," he says, leaning back in his chair and meeting Castiel's eyes. "I find that odd, if they really are so faithful to you."

"You're wrong," he repeats adamantly, crossing his arms in front of his chest, looking as though he was about to depart. One last chance to get a few words in.

"Tell me, angel, do they ever call your name just so they can see you? Spend time with you?" Castiel said nothing, but continued staring at him in that way of his. "No, I thought not. They summon you because they need their Angel Boy Wonder."

"I don't understand that reference," Castiel replies tightly. "I'm leaving, now."

"Nice chat, Castiel," he said, smiling at the angel. "If you ever want to pop by for a cold glass and a heart-to-heart, you know where to find me." Instead of responding, he hears a rush of wings and feels a bit of a breeze. His smile breaks into a grin as he snaps his fingers and his glass miraculously fills with two more fingers of Craig. Things were going beautifully.

* * *

He hates the fact that what Crowley said to him actually takes up residence in his mind. When he next is summoned by Dean, who calls out his name desperately, he arrives immediately. Sam is injured, blood soaking his entire left side. Obediently, he heals the younger Winchester, earning gratefulness from the both of them. Castiel feels vindicated. The brothers appreciate him. He isn't just a tool. He leaves, bidding them farewell.

When next he is summoned, Dean asks him if he knows anything about a demon they've been tracking in Wyoming. He tells them all he knows, and they thank him again. He disappears.

Four days later, Dean summons him again, this time to ask if he can zip them over to DC quickly, so they can check in on a witch situation there. He does so, then helps them find the witch and interrogate her. It all goes very smoothly. They thank him. He leaves. He's starting to notice a pattern. The thought never occurs to him to stay with the Winchesters, to just genuinely spend time with them, like friends would do, or so the television has taught him. Over the past few years of knowing Sam and Dean, he's occasionally spent time with them that wasn't related to a hunt, watching TV or chatting with them while they drank, but it was generally while they were waiting for a call from Bobby, or waiting for the next move in whatever their current plan was.

He realizes with a jolt that what he was with Sam and Dean seems more like a sort of business partnership, rather than a friendship. And that bothers him, intensely so. It's like an itch in the back of his mind that he cannot scratch. He ponders the idea of just appearing in front of either Sam and Dean, of just trying to spend quality time with them, but he decides that it would be what Dean calls 'awkward'.

For one of the first times in his life, he feels... lonely. He is separated from most of his brothers and sisters in Heaven, his Father has long been silent, and Sam, Dean, and Bobby... they suddenly are starting to slip from the pedestal where he held them in his mind. He loves them, but he is starting to doubt whether that love is fully returned.

Particularly in Dean's case, this causes him great worry. He had been honest when he told Crowley that he and Dean had was a bond. He remembers the burning flames of Hell around him as he and the other angels launched their assault on Dean, remembered the sound of his own screams as his wings were singed, burned black. Permanently scarred. He remembers the hopelessness in the human's eyes as he landed a burning hand on his shoulder, marking him as his forever, and then dragging him from perdition.

Theirs was a bond forged in blood and fire, and bonds such as those could not be broken. But whether that bond was synonymous with friendship and family like Dean claims it to be, well, he's not quite sure.

He feels as though he should talk to someone about his troubles, and unfortunately, there are not many options on the table. He remembers Crowley's offer, and he's a little bit disappointed in himself that he actually considers it. That demon infuriates him... lascivious, power-hungry, sadistic... evil in everyway, the exact opposite of himself. He does not pretend that he is the embodiment of good, and he has seen many angels like Zachariah that were far worse than Crowley, but his Father made him in his image, made Heaven his domain, and attempted to create him as a sinless being. He is fairly positive that Crowley is the living definition of sin.

And yet, here is, working in tandem with the former King of the Crossroads, the new King of Hell. It's for the greater good, but it still leaves him feeling tainted by Crowley's influence, not to mention the duplicity he has had to adopt when it comes to dealing with the Winchesters. But their conversations are somewhat... fulfilling. Crowley can understand him in certain ways Dean and Sam cannot, being human. Crowley, like himself, is an incredibly powerful supernatural being who has live for hundreds upon hundreds of years. Also, although Castiel doesn't particularly like to admit it, Crowley is intelligent and very capable of carrying on an interesting conversation.

He hates himself a little when he appears in Crowley's office for literally no reason, sinking down into the armchair in front of the demon's desk as he looks up from what appears to be a very long scroll. A Crossroads deal, most likely. He's surprised when Crowley grins at his presence. "Nice of you to drop in," he says, setting aside his pen and scroll. "Are you here for business... or pleasure?" The demon tilts his head, now smirking.

He doesn't like that tone of Crowley's. His voice is too smooth, too... sensual? Yes, that's the word for it. It makes him shiver slightly. He's not sure why it does that to him. He sighs, leaning back in the chair. "I... am having doubts."

"Doubts?" Crowley echoes, folding his hands together and looking intently at him. He's zoned in on him. He's piqued the demon's curiosity. "About?"

"My... relationship with the Winchesters," he begins, playing subconsciously with the edge of his trench coat. Crowley nods, as if he suspected this.

"Starting to take off the rose-colored lenses, are we?" he asked, snapping his fingers. A bottle of Glenncraig, the demon's favorite alcohol, appeared on the desk, alongside of two filled glasses. "You've come to the right place to drown your sorrows, darling."


	2. I Hope You Dance

**Chapter 2 - I Hope You Dance**

_A/N: By the way, this is mild AU after "Caged Heat"._

* * *

"You've come to the right place to drown your sorrows, darling," Crowley says. What a wonderful surprise. So far, his day had been made up of meticulously proofreading a new Crossroads contract and massacring a group of disobedient demons that apparently thought his orders were suggestions. However, with the appearance of his favorite fallen angel, the day has the potential to get interesting.

"Rose-colored lenses?" he asks, not understanding the saying. Crowley tries unsuccessfully to keep the smirk off of his face. Castiel, Angel of the Lord, who prided himself on being righteous, holy and all of that, had come to him, King of Hell and demon extraordinaire.

Crowley, two. Winchesters, zero.

"It means that you're disgustingly optimistic," Crowley says, picking up his glass and motioning for Castiel to take his own. "At least when it comes to the Dream Team."

"I should be able to trust them unconditionally, after everything I've been through with them," Castiel says, seeming unsure of himself. "Yet, I don't. This... it troubles me." He picks up the glass, considers it, then takes a sip. "I wish I could enlist their help, uncovering Purgatory. But I cannot."

"Goes back to the point I was trying to make last week," Crowley says. "They're your mates when it's advantageous to them. They'd stab you with that blasted knife of theirs just as soon as they'd shake your hand."

"You would do the same," Castiel points out mildly. Much more mildly than he usually would have, anyway.

"Ah, but therein lies the difference, Feathers. I'm honest about being a soulless, manipulative bastard. If I stab you, it'll be in in the heart, so I can watch the life leave your eyes." He realizes too late that he may have strayed a bit too dark for the angel's liking, judging by the both irritated and uncomfortable look settling in on Castiel's features. He attempts to recover. "The Winchesters fancy themselves saints, blissfully ignorant of the trail of corpses they leave wherever they go."

"I do not think they would betray me," Castiel insists. "That's not what I'm bothered by. It's more that I'm starting to reevaluate..." he pauses, sipping at his drink as he searches for the right word. "Many things."

"And you decided that I, of course, would be the best to consult about this," Crowley says, an positively devilish (pardon the pun) grin spreading on his face. "After all, I know the Winchesters unfortunately well."

"I came here because..." Castiel lets out a heavy sigh that he would even venture to deem ragged. For one of the only times in his knowing of the angel, he looks old. Tired. Angels can't be sleep deprived, and they don't age, so he doesn't know why those characteristics stand out so starkly on the angel's face. His thirty-something vessel is looking ages older. Millennium older, in fact. "Because I realized that I am more alone than I would have originally liked to have believed."

Oh, poor Castiel. All alone in the world. Daddy takes an extended vacation and leaves all of his kids to fend for themselves, his brothers and sisters are too busy trying to either usurp control of Heaven or kill each other, and the Winchesters only call him up when they need their flannel-clad asses saved. He's eroded at the angels seemingly unwavering faith in the Winchesters faster than he thought possible. Fantastic. This was turning out to be a better day than he originally thought.

"Pity, that," he agrees, sipping carefully at his Craig as he chooses his next words carefully. He mustn't fudge this conversation. This could be crucial in truly winning over the angel's loyalty. "I can empathize with you, if that means anything." Castiel remains silent, staring at him in that patented way of his, but in a way that seems to expect him to continue with that thought. He drums his fingers on the side of his glass. "King of Hell. It's an excellent promotion, really. Legions of demons at my disposal, nice, warm location. People are jumping to get into your good graces, but not exactly champing at the bit to get in your Rolodex. Too afraid I'll sentence them to an eternity in Perdition."

"You are... lonely?" The way Castiel says it, his voice seems small for a second. He feels something pang inside of him, and he wonders for a second if he's feeling some sort of compassion for the angel. He quickly brushes it off. Acid reflux was a far more likely explanation.

"Lonely would imply that I have a desire for human contact," he replies smoothly, finishing off his glass. "But you, darling, are not human. Not by a long shot. I don't mind the company of individuals who are... on my _level_, so to speak. Some may call it a superiority complex. I, personally, refer to it as discerning taste."

"We are not equals," Castiel reminds him. "I am stronger than you. I am working with you only because it is the most plausible way of opening Purgatory. You have no power over me."

"I think you're forgetting whose the top in this relationship," Crowley replies, and he can't help but let a slight growl creep into his voice. "This entire plan pivots on the condition that I don't blow your cover to the Winchesters." Somewhere along the lines, he lost control of this conversation - however, threats against each other didn't always indicate a lost cause.

Castiel looks more displeased than usual by this. "If you betray me, you'll never gain the power of the souls in Purgatory, and once I find a way in myself, I would do all in my power to destroy you."

"The pittance you promised me?" Crowley asks, tilting his head as he leans back in his chair. "Yes, yes... I would be deprived of that. Of course, I hear there's another angel looking to break open that gate and have themselves a soul-buffet. An archangel, actually." If he didn't know any better, he would say that Castiel had just paled at his words. "That look of realization, if only I could have that framed. It would look lovely above my mantle."

"You... you wouldn't dare." That's the ticket. Fear. Dependency. The first two of the numbered steps in the Owning Your Very Own Angel Guide.

"Wouldn't I?" he asks in a sickly sweet voice, the statement punctuated by a dangerous smirk. "I'm not trying to threaten you, so don't get your trench coat in a twist. I'm just reminding you that it takes two to tango. We're partners, I'm not your mindless slave, nor are you mine, no matter how appealing that idea is."

There was a pregnant pause as Crowley's words settle in on Castiel, who seems to have realized that he isn't actually being threatened, more like he's on the receiving end of a friendly reminder. At least, that's how it seems from Crowley's point of view.

"Crowley?" the angel asks, after taking a longer draught than usual from his glass.

"Yes, Castiel?" he responds in the most patronizing way possible.

"What is a tango?"

Perhaps the day could be salvaged, yet.

He sets down his glass and smirks at the angel, rising from his chair and stepping around the desk to stand next to the chair that Castiel is seated in. The angel instinctively leans back. Nasty habit, that. He snaps his fingers, and music with a steady beat abruptly starts playing, seemingly from nowhere. _Argentinean, very nice, _Crowley thinks before offering his right hand to Castiel. "They say it's best to show, rather than tell," he says. Castiel stares at his hand for what might have been a solid minute before carefully putting his own hand in Crowley's, as if he expects his skin to burn him. He also seems half surprised when it doesn't.

He pulls the angel to his feet, then puts his left hand on the small of his back. Castiel flinches at the movement. "The tango is a dance?" he asks, for clarification. Crowley nods.

"I've been told I'm quite the dancer," he shares, taking Castiel's hand and putting it on his bicep. Castiel's fingers dig in slightly, and he's wide eyed, most likely wondering what the hell he's playing at. He takes a step closer to Castiel, so there's only about an inch of space between them, just enough to make sure their knees don't crash into each other, but enough that their chests are still brushing. _Very nice._ "Keep your weight on the balls of your feet," he instructs, actually seriously this time. If he's going to give the angel his first dance, it's going to be a damn good one.

Castiel obeys, as he can see the shift in his stance. He applies gentle pressure to Castiel's palm. He takes a step forward with his left foot, then with his right foot. "Now, step backwards with your right foot first, then your left." Castiel nods, then follows his command. "Good. Keep your arms firm, and follow my lead," he says quietly, since Castiel's face is only inches from him. "If you can bare to keep your eyes off of me, look over your right shoulder to see where we're going."

"Why the right shoulder, specifically?" Castiel asks, quirking his head in that odd way of his.

"The man looks over his left shoulder, woman looks over her right," he comments with a sly grin. Castiel gives him a withering look, but doesn't withdraw as Crowley begins to guide the angel around the room in a counter-clockwise circle, keeping in beat with the music. It's been quite awhile since he danced, since before he became King of Hell. Crossroads demons had so much more free time to waste.

Castiel's steps are clumsy, understandably, since he's sure that no one ever taught the poor bastard how to do much of anything other than save worthless human ass. The Man Upstairs really needed to work on giving his angels some life skills. However, since the angel is submitting to his lead, he slowly manages to coordinate his steps with Crowley's. In spite of his direction to look over his shoulder to see where they're going, Castiel's eyes keep flicking back to him, until they eventually just focus on him. Crowley smirks at the angel before willing the music to slow slightly. He diminishes their pace to match it. Castiel seems to better suited to the less rapid beat.

Their spontaneous dance continues for an indeterminable amount of time, Castiel's expression staying consistently the same - he looks like he's trying to solve a puzzle. He feels a little self-satisfied at that. Finally, he remembers that time is indeed still ticking by, and his eyes dart to the clock above his desk. He and Castiel have been at it for about an hour. He decides its time to finish. As usual, he decides to go out with a bang, rather than a fizzle.

He loosens his grip on Castiel for just a moment, swinging the angel around abruptly before neatly orchestrating a turn. He finishes the move by reestablishing his hold on Castiel, tighter this time, and leaning down so sharply that the angel's feet barely manage to catch up, and most of his weight is being supported by Crowley. Brown stares into blue. Crowley gives Castiel what he believes to be a winning smile. "How's that for your first dance, feathers?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow at him. Castiel's eyes widen even more, and Crowley thinks offhandedly that that they're quite an interesting shade of blue. He observes that his own face is so close to Castiel's that he can hear the angel's rhythmic breathing.

Suddenly, the space that was previously occupied by Castiel is replaced by air, and he is standing alone, bent over in his office. He rolls his eyes and rises to his full height, straightening the lapels of his suit with an irritated sigh. _Damn angel. _He had certainly made progress with Castiel over the course of the past few hours, but he hadn't expected the prat to disappear so abruptly.

However, he does know that he'll likely be seeing Castiel again very, _very_ soon. He looks up slightly, and on the off chance that Castiel is still listening, he speaks. "If you're ever feeling lonely..." he smiles, picks up his forgotten glass of Craig, and toasts it to the ceiling.

* * *

Dean sips contemplatively at his beer, barely aware of the football game playing on the TV in front of him. He can feel Sam looking at him out of the corner of his eye in a way that clearly expresses concern. Sam gets concerned every time he looks deep in thought. The fact is, he's got Castiel on his mind more than usual lately. Something is _up_ with him. Well, something is always up with Castiel, he's a weird dude, but something is obviously bothering him. The last time he visited, he had departed even more abruptly than usual, and he kept getting this uncharacteristic far-away look about him. Cas is almost always right in the moment, staring at him like if he looked away he'd just up and disappear.

He takes a long sip of his beer. _Weird. _Granted, his life is always weird, but Castiel, for the most part, is simpler to deal with than most of the other people they run into. Hell, sometimes he thinks he might even understand Cas a little bit. Cas isn't human, he handles things differently than humans do, but he tends to look at things more logically than a human would. When something unsettles the rational, pragmatic Angel of Thursday, he gets worried.

"Okay, seriously, what is up with you today?" Sam finally asks, setting his own beer down on the coffee table and leveling a serious look at him. "You've been staring off into space for the past hour. Are the walls really that pretty?" The walls were in fact not pretty at all. The color was reminiscent of moldy cheese.

"Nothing's up with me," Dean says, shrugging his shoulders and trying to appear nonchalant. "I'm fine." He doesn't need Sam worrying about him on top of him worrying about Cas on top of Cas worrying about... well, whatever the hell it is that Cas is worrying about.

"Yeah, bull," Sam says. "Can you please just stop pretending that you're The Terminator for five seconds and level with me?"

"It's Cas, okay?" he finally snaps. Sam doesn't seem surprised.

"Well, yeah, Dean, I figured that much out for myself. When you get that look, it's _always_ Cas." Sam gives him that knowing look that makes Dean want to slap him. "What about him?"

"He's acting hinky," Dean says, setting down his beer and crossing his arms. "Can't you tell?"

"I didn't notice Cas acting any stranger than he usually does, if that's what you mean," Sam replies. "Then again, you pay a lot more attention to Cas than I do."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Dean asks gruffly.

"Huh... how did Cas put it again? Oh yeah, you share a 'profound bond'," Sam explains. "You pick up on stuff he does. I don't know, you kind of get him, if anyone can actually _get _Castiel."

"He pulled me out of Hell," Dean reminds his younger brother. "Good foundation for male bonding, I guess."

"Cas has saved both of our asses more times than we can count," Sam says. "But I don't have his hand mark branded into my shoulder, and he didn't burn his wings to a crisp for me."

Dean blinked at this. "Wait, what!?"

Sam's seems genuinely surprised by this, judging by the furrowing of his brow and the uneasy dive his lips take into a frown. "You... you didn't know about that?"

"Know about _what_, Sam? What the hell happened to his wings, and how do you know about it?" He can hear his voice, and it sounds a little on the frantic side.

"It was a couple years back. We were fighting a werewolf up in North Dakota, and I got separated from you." Dean nods. He remembers the hunt. Not one of their worst, but definitely not a fond memory by any means. "The wolf had me pinned down, and I knew I was screwed, so I just screamed 'Castiel' as loud as I could. A few seconds later, I hear this huge flap, and I saw his wings. It was when he was starting to lose power when he was cut off from Heaven, I guess they were moving slower or something, so I could actually see them. They were completely black. Cas saved my ass, and when I was recovering, I asked him about it." Sam runs both hands through his hair in a distraught way. "Says they were burned when he went into Hell to save you, 'permanently tainted'... no way to fix them."

And Dean just sits there. He sits there, and he wonders what he ate for breakfast, because right now, he's pretty damn sure it's going to come back up. He just nods dimly, and Sam keeps trying to coax him back into conversation, but it's not working. Dean can't form proper thought at the moment, and doubts that he would be much of a conversationalist. Finally, the younger Winchester gives up, and his eyes go back to the TV. Dean excuses himself and tries not to run to the bathroom.

When he gets in there, he throws up unceremoniously into the yellowed toilet in the motel bathroom. Oh. He had scrambled eggs. Gross.

He crouches in front of the toilet, vomiting quietly, hoping Sam doesn't hear him, and trying to get the image out of his head of Cas screaming as his wings were torched black, of Cas figuring out that there was no way to fix himself, that he would always be marked.

He's starting to think that meeting him was the worst thing that ever happened to Castiel.


	3. Devotion and Desire

_Chapter 3 - Devotion and Desire_

A/n: Sorry for the long wait, everyone! Real life has been crazy lately.

* * *

Castiel doesn't have any place in mind when he transports himself out of Crowley's office, he just know he needs to get _away_ as soon as possible. A second later, he finds himself in a grassy meadow, which his senses quickly identify as a small playground and park near the motel Sam and Dean are currently staying at, in Stillwater, Pennsylvania. The place is thankfully empty. He sinks down into one of the swings, breathing hard.

He can't completely process what he's feeling at the moment, and a part of him is quite sure he doesn't want to. His face is burning, he's gasping for breath, and his lower stomach feels as though lava is flowing inside of him. His pants feel tighter for some reason, and his legs aren't nearly as steady as they should be. He only feels like this if he's exerted too much of his Grace in a short period of time.

"What... in God's name..." he breathes out, gripping onto one of the chains that suspends the swing in the air. _Crowley must have done something to me_, Castiel reasons. _Perhaps there was something in the alcohol? No, that can't be, he drank from the same bottle as I did... maybe he laced it with a specific poison that only affects angelic beings? _He shakes his head, brushing off the thought. He doesn't feel ill now that he's sitting down, just... incredibly hot, hyper-aware, and somewhat uncomfortable.

When the demon had leaned in close when he had swung him, something about the warm breath on his face, his dark eyes staring at him, Crowley's smooth voice, and the contact of their bodies had pushed him over the edge. What was he doing? An angel, fraternizing with a demon, the King of Hell, no less.

He sighs, letting his head drop into his hands. This is tiring. He is used to almost solely interacting with the Winchesters and Bobby. He doesn't know how to engage in social situations with others, especially a demon. Demons had always been placed in a part of his mind labeled 'evil'. Things were black and white. Yet now, he's working with a demon, and with a partnership like that there is a threat of developing care for a person, at least on his end, since he didn't believe that Crowley was capable of caring about anyone other than himself.

He needs to get a hold of himself. This is ridiculous, and he's getting an unpleasant pounding in his temples that he's noticed he gets when Dean is emotionally distressed, most likely a left over from his pulling him out of Hell. He stands up, makes sure he's properly centered so Dean and Sam don't notice anything different about him, then transports himself to the motel.

When he arrives, he's surprised to find that Sam seems to be the only one there. "Hello, Sam," he greets the youngest Winchester, who turns his head around to look at him, eyebrows raised.

"Hey Castiel," Sam replies. "I didn't expect to see you today. What's up?"

"I thought it would be wise to check in on the two of you," Castiel answers. "It has been several days since we've spoken."

"Everything's okay, right now. As okay as it can be, anyway. We still haven't found anything," Sam explains. Castiel looks around the room, and spreads out his awareness, but finds that Dean is not in the hotel.

"Where is Dean?" he asks.

Sam seems somewhat exasperated at the question. He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. "He went for a walk, said he had to clear his head."

"Dean typically says that when something is weighing heavily down on his conscience," Castiel points out in a monotone.

"Uh, yeah," Sam says, not seeming to know how to respond.

"I will go locate him," he says, preparing to depart. However, Sam's voice halted him.

"Hey, Cas, can I ask you something?" Sam asks, tilting his head slightly as he leans over the back of the sofa that smells somewhat reminiscent of mothballs.

"Yes?"

"Why didn't you tell Dean about what happened to your wings?"

Castiel blinks in subdued surprise. He certainly wasn't expecting Sam's line of query to follow such a course. What did his wings have to do with anything? "It never occurred to me to share the information. The only reason I informed you was because you asked."

"You don't think that would have been something that Dean should know? That you irreparably damaged a part of your body in the process of saving him?" Sam asks in that way that implies that the other person already knows the answer.

"It didn't seem relevant," Castiel replies, brow furrowed.

"Well, it came up in conversation, and I told Dean. He seemed to think that it was pretty relevant," he says.

"He seemed troubled by it?"

"What do you think, Cas?" Sam asks, and Castiel remembers that Dean is 'clearing his head'. Smothering a sigh, he stretches out his awareness to locate the older Winchester and rectify the situation.

He finds Dean's distinct aura in a rundown bar several blocks away from the motel. In a blink, he flies there, but he makes himself invisible, as he knows that Dean does not like to be caught off-guard by his sudden appearances. The bar is seedy and unseemly, reeking of cheap alcohol and even cheaper perfume.

He spots Dean at the bar, sitting on a wooden stool next to a young woman whom he is conversing with. They are leaning very close to each other, talking in low voices. With his enhanced hearing, he can discern their words. "...maybe go some place?" Dean smiles as the young woman says this. He can tell from where he stands that Dean is intoxicated, if his dilated pupils and the empty glass in front of him is any indication.

The woman is blond, voluptuous, and blue-eyed. Dean's typical fare. He leans in farther and brushes his lips against hers, and she responds very positively, placing her hand on the back of his neck and pulling him towards her, opening her mouth wide to grant him better access.

Castiel feels ill, and there is a very unpleasant sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. Dean seems to have recovered from whatever turmoil that was troubling him. He flies out of the bar, barely aware of what he's doing, and finds himself in front of the liquor store he had drank the contents of two years before after finding out that his Father had abandoned them to the apocalypse.

For some reason, alcohol seems like a particularly good idea. He strolls inside, places a finger on the forehead of the man at the counter, knocking him unconscious, and hunts through the store.

He decides not to analyze why he picks out a bottle of Glenncraig.

* * *

_Several days later..._

"Err, Mr. Crowley, sir?" the shifty looking Crossroads demon pipes up, voice shaking slightly. He lifts his eyes from the Latin script he's desperately trying to translate, eyeing the demon in the meatsuit of a young man with blatant irritation.

"What?"

"A banker you made a deal with a little over a year ago, sir, a Thomas Pendleton. He died of a heart attack yesterday morning," he informs him. "His soul has been collected. We thought that you would want to know."

Crowley looks at the other demon for a long moment. "What's your name, again?"

"My name?" he asks with a blank expression.

"Did I stutter?"

"No, I mean, um... my name's Forfax, sir."

"Forfax. Uh-huh. Well, Forfax, I'd like to inform you that in the future, when you have something of such _complete and utter irrelevance _to tell me, that you tell it to one of my other minions instead of interrupting my work!" he said, his voice steadily rising as he continued. He isn't in the mood for any of his underlings to bother him today. He managed to get his hands on an ancient Latin text that he believes may lead himself and Castiel to Purgatory - but unfortunately, he doesn't speak Latin. Having been born in the seventeenth century, Latin was slowly declining into a dead language during his lifetime.

Conveniently, none of his few minions that he had made aware of his continued survival knew how to read Latin either. So, he was using an online translator, typing in each passage painstakingly and waiting for the results, which may or may not have been correct.

Needless to say, he wasn't in the mood for interruptions.

Forfax nodded his head quickly and scuttled out of the room, looking about eight seconds away from wetting himself. _Good, _he thinks murderously, contemplating summoning the demon back just so he could kill him. However, he is running short on hands to handle this old Crossroads deals from his time as King of the Crossroads, and killing his few employees would not be in his best interest.

He withdraws from his laptop in frustration, running a hand over his face with a heavy sigh. This is taking far too long. Just as he's about to give up, an idea occurs to him as a bit of lore he read regarding angels floats into his mind, about how they fluently speak every language on earth.

Time to set up a play date with Castiel. He pulls out his iPhone and hits Castiel's speed dial number, waiting for the angel to pick up. For the first time since their partnership had begun, he got Castiel's voicemail.

"Hello, you have reached the voicemail of," the robotic voice began, and then Castiel interjecting with, "I don't understand. Why do you want me to say my name?"

Crowley, for the first time in quite awhile, laughs out loud. Typical Castiel. The poor bastard didn't seem to know his way around his phone, either. He sighs, stuffing his phone back in the pocket of his trousers. _There's really only one other way to get in contact with my fine-feathered friend..._

Oh hell, this was going to be a whole new level of wrong. He clasps his hands together, bowing his head slightly with a grimace. A _demon_ praying, and to an angel, no less. He clears his throat loudly, fumbling for words. The Winchesters just called his name and said a few words, didn't they? Hmm. Alright. He can manage that.

"Castiel?" he says the angel's name as a question. "I don't suppose I could trouble you to grace me with your presence... pardon the pun... I need you." He thinks it's a fairly good prayer. He waits, and a moment later, Castiel appears in front of him, pale blue eyes staring at him.

"What is it that you require?" Castiel asks stiffly, and Crowley wonders if he's recalling their last encounter.

"You can speak every language on the planet fluently, right?" he inquires, leaning back in his chair.

Castiel nods. "Yes, that's correct."

"Well then, I've got a homework assignment for you, darling," Crowley says, pushing the dusty tome towards him. "Entire damn thing is in Latin. I'll be here for days trying to translate. You can already read it, mind taking a looksie?"

"Do you believe that it will give us some kind of lead as to the location of Purgatory?" Castiel asks, stepping around the side of Crowley's desk.

"No, I thought it might lead us to the other side of the rainbow," he replies, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yes, it'll help us to find Purgatory. Now, do you mind?" He rises from his seat, gesturing for Castiel to take a seat. The angel reluctantly does so, settling himself in and leaning forward to examine the text, flipping it back to the very first page.

"I will require pen and paper," Castiel says, looking up briefly at Crowley.

"Oh? Why's that?"

"So I can translate it and create a copy that you can read," Castiel explains, brow furrowing as his eyes scan over the words.

"Why not just type it? My laptop is right in front of you."

"I do not know how to type," Castiel replies in his usual monotone. Even Crowley is a little caught off guard by that.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I do not kid."

"Of course you don't," Crowley replies. He snaps his fingers, and a foot thick pile of plain white paper appears next to him, along with a pen. "There. Knock yourself out."

"Why would I do that?" Castiel asks, brow furrowing. Crowley forces himself to hold back his sigh of exasperation.

"You really are clueless. An ancient entity with knowledge even I can't imagine, and you can't grasp a bloody idiom," Crowley says, seating himself on the edge of his desk, making sure that he's just close enough to Castiel to make him uncomfortable, but not so close as to force the angel to move. Castiel's eyes slide to him for a moment before going back to the text. He's working very quickly, writing in neat cursive script on the paper while he pages through the old tome, only pausing for about three seconds on each page.

"Dean has expressed similar sentiments," Castiel says without thinking. Once he realizes what he's just said, his mouth dives in a frown.

"Trouble in paradise?" he asks innocently. Castiel sighs, and he's silent for a long moment before he responds.

"Dean's recent actions have troubled me, though I'm unsure why."

"What actions?" This was good. Once again, Castiel was on the brink of pouring his poor, sad little heart out to him. He smothers a self-satisfied smile. The key is getting Castiel to fully trust him. Once he had that, well, it would be child's play turning the angel on his pet humans.

"I... well, we have not been spending as much time together as usual, and I saw him engaging in romantic activities with a woman in one of the towns he and Sam stopped in. For some reason, it upset me," Castiel tells him reluctantly. Already a sizable stack of the translation has formed, and Castiel is almost halfway done with the text. His hands and eyes are moving faster than Crowley can keep track of, so he chooses to just listen to his voice instead.

"And you don't have any idea why that is?" Crowley asks slowly. It was no leap of the imagination that Castiel had the equivalent of a schoolgirl crush on the older Winchester, not that Castiel would have hope or prayer of realizing that on his own.

So? Identify and destroy. Show Castiel that he had feelings for Dean, and then promptly crush them. It sounds like a good plan to him.

"I suppose it's because I care about Dean's wellbeing, but the female posed no threat towards him," Castiel responds flatly.

"Isn't it obvious?" Crowley asks, leaning towards Castiel and giving him a knowing look. "You're jealous, darling."

Castiel briefly lifts his eyes from the translation to look at Crowley. "That's ridiculous. That would imply that I have romantic feelings towards Dean."

"Which you do," he replies, sliding himself off of the desk and coming to stand behind Castiel. He puts a hand on the angel's shoulder, and Castiel tenses under his touch. "Come on, now. That little tugging in your stomach? How you feel all warm and fuzzy when you're with him? You're smitten, Feathers, there's no sense in denying it."

"That's - I don't - I'm _not _-" The highlight of Crowley's week thus far: seeing the Angel of Thursday sputter and blush like a teenage girl. Between his accusations of his feelings towards Dean and his right hand landing on his other shoulder, Castiel is completely flustered.

"Right, right. No feelings for him whatsoever." He leaned down so his lips were only a breath away from Castiel's ear. "Not a dash of unresolved sexual tension?" Okay, he isn't just talking about Castiel and Dean anymore. He squeezes Castiel's shoulders slightly.

Castiel turns his head, staring at him in that way of his. Crowley does like his eyes. Once again, their faces are only an inch or two apart. Crowley gives Castiel a predatory grin. Castiel opens his mouth to say something, but then his brow furrows, as if he's straining to hear something in the distance.

A second later, Crowley is once again left holding onto thin air.

* * *

A/n: Reviews would make me very, very happy! :D


	4. Soul Meets Body

**Chapter 4 - Soul Meets Body**

_A/n: Yay, it's update time! :D Thanks for all the feedback so far, everyone, it makes me quite happy! _

* * *

"Now," Crowley says, his voice deceptively soft as he deftly twirls the scalpel between his fingers. "You're going to tell me exactly what I want to know. Once you do that, your reward will be a mercy kill. If you choose to remain silent, then I will enjoy the next-" He breaks off to check the time on his phone. "-twelve hours carving you up like a Christmas pig."

The alpha rugaru bares his teeth at him, blood red sclera flaring with rage as he struggles valiantly against his bonds. "Go fuck yourself, hell spawn."

"That's a mite unfriendly," Crowley replies, and he pins the scalpel between his index and middle finger. "I will ask you one last time... _what do you know about Purgatory?" _He allows his eyes to flash crimson, to add to the effect. Fear of your captor is key in a fact-finding mission such as this. The rugaru narrows his eyes and his snarling grows louder, but he seems otherwise unaffected.

The beast spits on him, hitting home directly on his nose. Good aim, but he isn't in the mood for this. Crowley glares daggers at the monster, removing his handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his face clean. "Well," Crowley drawls, balling up the handkerchief and throwing it into a nearby trash can. "Now you've gone and made me angry. Not in your best interest, mate."

Crowley holds down the rugaru's arm and places the sharp edge of the scalpel on the creature's skin, raking it up his arm and effectively skinning it. The beast groans, wincing, and Crowley continues his work. He won't stop until there isn't an inch of flesh left on his body. The monster's screams of agony echo against the walls of his handy little torture chamber, and Crowley allows himself a small smile.

Everybody has their hobbies. Some people do cross-point. He tortures beasties who know too much for their own good. He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it, even if most of the time the torture ends up being fruitless. Of course, they almost always break eventually. Crowley is talented in the more bloody arts. After all, he learned from the best. He'd been unfortunate enough to be one of Alastair's protégés during his time in the Pit.

He works on the rugaru for the next hour or so, humming all the while. He's soon splattered a sufficient amount of blood and other bodily fluids he didn't care to analyze on his apron, and the rugaru's skin is disappearing into the biological disposal bags he has on hand in his lab. The monster looks closer to breaking than expected at this point. Tears of agony trail down the rugaru's face as he writhes and screams and curses at him. Yes, this one is going to break before long.

"Crowley."

He jumps, accidentally slicing open the rugaru's bicep, which the creature apparently doesn't enjoy if the corresponding shout is any indication. Crowley drops his bloody tool down on the steel cart next to the table that the rugaru is strapped to. Wiping his bloody hands on his apron, he turns.

"Castiel. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Castiel is looking rather the worse for wear. His trench coat is drawn close around him, his sable hair is a wreck, and his eyes seem... haunted? Crowley tilts his head, curious.

"What's got your feathers ruffled?" he asks. The rugaru's screams are beginning to distract him, so he takes a hammer that he traditionally uses for breaking appendages and hits the beast over the head with it. The screaming ceases. He turns back to Castiel.

"Sam's soul has been returned to his body," Castiel informs him in a monotone. Crowley frowns. Was this why Castiel had disappeared in such a hurry yesterday?

"They actually got the thing back inside of him? Is there anything even left of it?" A year in the Cage with Lucifer? Hell only knew what that could do to a soul.

"I... I don't know. When I touched it..." the angel gulps as his eyes slide to the rugaru on the table. "His soul felt like it had been skinned alive. Sam has yet to regain consciousness."

"You touched it? You weren't behind putting it back in him, were you?"

"No!" Castiel says immediately with a shake of his head. "No, it was Death. Dean bargained with Death to get Sam's soul back."

"He bargained with Death?" Crowley repeats incredulously. "He was lucky to make it out of a meeting with him the first time, you're telling me the Pale Horse Rider let him walk _again_?" Even Crowley wouldn't risk trying to bargain with a Horseman. He'd been nervous enough just plotting Pestilence's demise and hunting for Death, and he'd made sure that when the chips were down he was in a different hemisphere. You don't get to be Horsemen for nothing, after all.

"Yes. He made a deal with Death. He had to be Death for twenty-four hours... he had to reap everyone who was set to die. If Dean won the wager, Death would return Sam's soul from the Cage."

"He did it then? He pulled of being Death?"

"No. He failed."

"You've lost me."

"Dean believes Death was trying to teach him a lesson. Death returned Sam's soul from Hell in spite of Dean losing the wager. Something about the intrepid detective... he was being very cryptic. Against Sam's will, Death put his soul back, along with a wall that will hopefully block out the memories of the past year and a half he spent in the Cage. Sam has been comatose since this occurred last night," Castiel explains. He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes for a long moment.

"What role do you play in all of this?" Crowley asks.

"Once Death took his leave, Dean called on me to make sure that Sam's soul was back in place. It was, but..." He shakes his head. "Souls cannot be destroyed, but Sam's has come so close. It's unbelievable. I have little faith that even Death's wall can hold back what's waiting for him in his own mind."

Crowley crosses his arms, leaning against the table as he watches Castiel intently. The angel's face looks drawn, and he's staring down at his hands, as if he's expecting to see blood there.

"You knew when you rescued him that the chances of you bringing all of him back were slim to none. We discussed this before you broke into the Cage."

_Crowley clasps his hands behind his back as the angel stared into the black, howling pit. _

_"So, this is it?" Castiel whispers. "The Cage."_

_"Uh-huh," Crowley replies. "It's been called by a lot of names other than that, but yeah. This is it. Deepest, darkest, scariest place in all Creation. Worse than downtown Detroit."_

_Judging by the look on Castiel's face, he doesn't understand the joke. "I am unsure of how to do this."_

_"You think I'm an expert at raising souls?" Crowley asks. "I'm not exactly in the business of happy endings."_

_"You resurrected Samuel," Castiel points out._

_"Two different Sams, darling. The littlest Winchester is a special case. I don't know how you're going to fish him out of there. I don't even know if you can," Crowley says. He can hear the screams of the damned echoing around him, but no sound comes from the gaping chasm in front of them, other than the sound of wind. He feels as though the thing is dragging him in, like it's calling his name. It frightens even him._

_"This is a foolhardy plan."_

_"Obviously. But do we really have any other choice?" Crowley asks. "It's this or the apocalypse."_

_Castiel is quiet for a moment, seeming far off. "There is always a choice." Crowley rolls his eyes. Castiel spends far too much time with the Winchesters._

_"Just go in, grab him, and get out, will you? The anticipation is killing me." He shoves the angel forwards slightly, and Castiel almost stumbles head long into the darkness. The wind from the Cage is pulling at the angel's trench coat._

_"Fine," he replies shortly. He braces himself, as if to jump in, but Crowley reaches out a hand to stop him._

_"One last thing, Kitten," he says. "Keep in mind... whatever you pull out of there? Something tells me it won't be one hundred percent pure Sam Winchester. Do try to get all the bits and pieces. Always buy retail and all that."_

_Castiel's brow furrows. "I don't-" Crowley cuts him off with a hand._

_"Just get it done, alright? With minimal casualties."_

_The angel nods again before letting himself fall into the black chasm. He's half-sure he hears a laugh echoing up from the Cage, but then decides that he's imagined it._

Back in the moment, Castiel is pacing around the room, his foot steps tapping a disorganized rhythm on the tile. "This is my fault," he says. "The kind of torment Sam's soul went through... what if he's trapped inside of his own mind, right now? Suffering?" He shakes his head, running his hands through his hair. He's never seen the angel so worked up. "What have I done?"

Crowley sighs, laying a hand on Castiel's shoulder and forcing the angel down into a chair that he makes appear with a snap of his fingers. "Calm down before you give yourself an aneurysm."

"I cannot do this anymore, Crowley," Castiel said, and he looks more human than Crowley's ever seen before. "They're my friends, and all I'm doing is hurting them!"

Crowley pinches the bridge of his nose. He half-wishes that Castiel was more like his brothers. Unfeeling and cold made a better business partner than warm and squishy. Of course, a normal angel wouldn't be as easy to manipulate as Castiel, and that wouldn't play into his plans at all.

Crowley leans down and places hands on either side of Castiel's face. The angel looks up at him, suspicion tangling with the misery in his eyes. Damn, those eyes could give Sam's puppy-dog look a run for its money. He decides he's going to have to roll out the big guns to keep Castiel from going off the rails.

"Cas," he says, using the angel's real nickname for one of the first times. "Listen to me, alright? If we abandon this plan, if we don't open Purgatory, everything we worked for to stop Michael and Lucifer means nothing. All of the sacrifices that Sam, Dean, and Bobby made, all the sacrifices that you and I made, it'll all be turned to dust, 'cause Raphael will put Judgment Day right back on schedule. You want to save them? You don't want them to get hurt? This is the only way."

Castiel stares at him for a long time, and there's such profound sorrow in the angel's eyes that Crowley wonders briefly if angels can cry. Finally, Castiel nods, albeit slowly.

"You're right," he says, his words almost inaudible. "I just wish that there was another way. I wish that I could tell them."

Crowley goes to make a snappy remark, but he bites his tongue, realizing that he needs to treat Castiel like a kitten - he'd given him the nickname for a reason, after all. He needs to reach out with an open palm, metaphorically speaking. All part of the process, yes? All part of turning Castiel against his human pets...

"I know," Crowley responds, brushing a thumb across Castiel's brow. The angel flinches slightly, but doesn't withdraw from his touch. "And someday, you'll be able to. But not now. Not when they could jeopardize everything we've worked for."

Castiel's gaze drifts. "I wonder if they will ever be able to forgive me once they know all that I've hidden."

Crowley pats Castiel's cheek before letting his hands drop. "I'd say once they see the results, it'll certainly help them get over it. This is all for the greater good, remember?" _My greater good, that is. _Crowley backs up so Castiel can rise from his chair. He can see that Castiel is slowly piecing his composure back together, putting on the big, tough angel facade. He wonders idly if he's the only one that can see all the cracks weaving their way through the angel of Thursday.

Castiel looks at the rugaru strapped to the steel autopsy table. "Do you think that he knows anything of use?" Ah, there's typical Castiel. Formal and stiff to a letter.

"Doubtful, but I'm holding onto the faint hope that he might know of a backdoor of sorts," Crowley provides, moving to stand next to the angel. He looks over his recent project. The rugaru's a bit of a mess, at present. The beasts aren't usually terribly pretty on a regular basis, but once they'd lost two pounds of flesh they were even more horrific.

"A backdoor?" Castiel repeats, tilting his head.

"Yeah... you can break out of every prison, right? Everything's got an escape hatch. What goes in must go out, even undead beasties. I'm thinking that if we look in the right places, we might not even need a ritual." Castiel looks skeptical, so Crowley tries to explain further. "Listen. Hell's got devil's gates, a way for demons to bust out. The angels have celestial gates that let your multidimensional whatever-they-are come down to Earth. So, logic would imply that Purgatory's got something similar. We just need to find it."

Castiel thinks for a moment before responding. "That does make sense," he concedes. "You think the rugaru may know where to find one?"

"He's an alpha, so one can hope, though I admit, I'm beginning to think he's clueless. I'm basically just doing it for the obvious erotic value at this point," he says with an indifferent shrug. Castiel looks absolutely appalled.

"You're aroused by torture?"

Crowley smirks at Castiel. For a being that's thousands of years old, he's a whole new level of naive. He extends a hand to the angel. "Crowley, King of Hell. Nice to meet you." Castiel just looks confused, now. Crowley sighs. "I'm a demon, darling, remember? I'm charming, I know, but you mustn't forget that I burned for centuries before coming up top. Once I got off the rack and started putting souls on, well... you learn to enjoy it. Some more than others." Castiel's mouth twitches for a moment, and he swears that the angel seems angry for a moment, but he doesn't feel as if its directed towards him. "What?"

"I..."

Realization hits him, and Crowley's smirk grows into a grin. "You forgot I was a demon for a moment, didn't you?" Castiel ducks his head, and Crowley lets out a guffaw. "Bloody hell, I'm beginning to think you've got a hard-on for me. I'm the new devil, for sin's sake."

Castiel grimaces. "Being around you frequently for so long has caused me to grow ignorant of your true nature," he responds stiffly. "It is a mistake I will not make again." He narrows his eyes briefly. "And what is a hard-on?"

Crowley smacks his forehead with the palm of his hand. Today wasn't the time to give the angel a sex ed class, so he decides to explain the saying instead. "I was trying to say that you like me, whether you're willing to admit it or not."

Crowley is delighted when Castiel blushes.

"I-"

"Wait, allow me," Crowley says, cutting across the angel. He clears his throat before adopting what he believes is an excellent imitation of Castiel's voice. "_Our relationship is one of convenience. I am only allied with you so that I may open Purgatory_." He gives Castiel a knowing look. "Excuses, excuses, darling."

"They are not excuses, but explanations," Castiel replies. "Nothing has changed since we began our partnership. This is what must be done to open Purgatory."

"Hmm," Crowley mutters. He strides from his place at Castiel's side so that he's standing directly in front of him. He takes a few steps forward until he is good and properly in the angel's personal space. Castiel watches him suspiciously. "Notice how close I am?" Another step forwards. "How you can hear me breathing?" Step. "How you can hear my heart beating, with that sharp hearing of yours?" Step. "How you can smell me?"

Their faces are only a few inches away. Castiel's looking down at him, cheeks flushed. He shakes his head. "I don't understand."

Crowley leans forward with a flash of daring, and Castiel lets out a surprised squeak - yes, a squeak, that's the only word he can think to describe the sound that the angel makes - as Crowley's lips collide with his. Crowley slides a hand up Castiel's neck, trapping him in the kiss.

For a few moments, Castiel does nothing, but allows himself to be kissed, even leans into it a bit. But then, he pulls back, eyes wide as he lets out a shaky breath. "What are you doing?"

"Showing you that things have indeed changed," Crowley said, hand still on Castiel's neck. "We've shared a foxhole, you and I. Bonds forged in blood and fire and all that." He smiles at the angel. "I'm saying that I just kissed you, and whether you like it or not, you enjoyed it. And you enjoy having me around... _that's_ what's changed."

Castiel opens his mouth to respond, but then pauses. Crowley's sure he's going to disappear in a moment, but to his surprise, Castiel doesn't blink out without a word as is his usual routine.

"What?" Crowley asks.

"Sam," Castiel replies. "Sam is awake... and he's praying to me."

They look at each other for a long moment before Crowley sighs. He allows his hand to fall to the side and backs away from Castiel. "Go and give Moose his warm welcome back," he tells the angel.

Castiel gulps, watching Crowley intently with his bright blue eyes. "Goodbye, Crowley." And with that, he disappears.

Well, he's saying 'bye' now before flying off to God only knows where. He decides that qualifies as progress.


	5. Deceptions and Distractions

**Chapter 5: Deceptions and Distractions**

_A/n: Thanks for all the feedback so far, guys! I love you all. :D_

* * *

"Sam," Castiel says, eyes raking over the youngest Winchester. "It's so good to see you alive." Alive and with a soul. He can see it in his eyes. He can see the light that's been missing since he rescued the hunter from the Cage. For the first time in a year and a half, he's seeing the Sam that sacrificed himself to save the world.

"Yeah, you too," Sam replies. Castiel lifts his arms for a moment, intending to hug Sam, an appropriate response after not seeing the real him for so long, but a worry strikes him. He feels as though he smells of Crowley, reeks of the demon's presence. He is still reeling from the demon's surprise kiss, and he decides that close physical contact with anyone else at the moment is not a good idea. He gives Sam an awkward smile instead. Sam faintly returns it.

"Uh..." Sam trails off. "Was a crazy year, huh? I just talked to Bobby. He told me everything that happened." This surprises Castiel. He didn't think that Bobby or Dean would choose to reveal Sam's actions, especially after his soulless self had attempted to kill Bobby.

"Frankly, I'm surprised that you survived. I begged Dean not to do it," Castiel tells him. He feels as though he owes Sam that much honesty.

"Yeah, no, I can understand that," Sam responds. Something about the Winchester's demeanor is nervous. Castiel narrows his eyes at him.

"It's a miracle you survived."

"Yeah, yeah. It's a miracle alright."

"So..." Castiel shuffles uncomfortably. "How does it feel?"

Sam blinks in confusion. "What?"

"To have your soul back, of course."

"Oh, right," Sam backtracks. "Um, I'm just - I'm a little hazy on some of the details, you know? Would you mind, err, filling me in?"

* * *

"Cas, we need to talk_ right now_."

When Castiel hears the angry prayer, he quickly appears in front of Dean, confused at the rage he can practically feel radiating off of the hunter. They're in a motel room, and his senses quickly identify the location as a cheap inn somewhere in Delacroix. He tilts his head.

"Hello, Dean." He furrows his brow. "Is something wrong?"

"You told him everything."

Castiel blinks, because he's not sure he understands why Dean is upset. He doesn't enjoy it when Dean is upset, especially when there's nothing he can do to stop him from hurting. Also, Dean's words could be bruising when he's in a bad mood.

"Who is 'him'?"

"You told Sam everything he did when he was soulless! Everything that you knew, anyway," Dean says, his tone sharp and accusatory. "Cas, what the hell? Why would you tell him about the bastard he was when he was walking around without a soul?"

He realizes with a jolt that Sam tricked him during their last encounter. He feels a faint sensation of betrayal before he brushes it away. He can understand why the younger Winchester would want to know of his actions during the year and a half that he had no soul.

"Sam led me to believe that he was already aware of what had happened, but was confused on several details," Castiel explains, hoping that Dean understands that it was not his intention to cause trouble. The hunter does not seem calmed by his words.

"You friggin' child," Dean says. "Did you really think we'd do that? Honestly, Cas, sometimes..." He shakes his head, trailing off. Castiel frowns, waiting for Dean to continue. When he says nothing, Castiel speaks.

"Although I am aware that the damage has already been done, I am sorry. I thought I was helping Sam."

"Well, you weren't," Dean snaps. "Every time Sam scratches at the wall Death put up, Hell leaks out. After the last case we worked, he went into full-on seizure mode. He stopped breathing for minutes, Cas! He was right back in the Cage with the devil. We can't risk that happening again."

Castiel's brow furrows, and he feels a sinking in the pit of his stomach. This news is unsettling. He'd hoped that Death's wall would hold strong against Sam's memories of the Cage, but it appears that they are already seeping through the barrier. He suppresses a sigh, knowing that Dean is right. He should've been more careful when speaking to Sam. _I should've been more careful when I raised him the first place_, he thinks dismally.

"I'm sorry, Dean-"

Dean just holds up a hand. "Listen, just... _think_ next time, okay? You're an angel with a million-something years up in that head of yours, you should be able to figure out when somebody's playing you."

Castiel nods. "I will endeavor to avoid incidents such as this in the future."

Dean sighs. "That's all I'm asking for, man." The hunter seems to deflate slightly, sinking down onto the dark-green and moth eaten couch pushed up against the stained walls of the motel room. Dean rests his chin on his hand, looking up at Castiel with a slight frown. "Well, since you're here, how's the war upstairs going?"

Castiel's jaw tightens. It's not going well. His forces are dwindling by the day. He's dealing with more defections to Raphael's side than ever, and few of his followers remain loyal. He worries that if they don't find Purgatory soon, he'll eventually have no one but Crowley at his side.

Crowley. The demon's name almost sends a shiver up his spine. He hasn't seen him in several days, having been preoccupied with the battle in Heaven, but he finds himself missing the demon king's presence. The memory of Crowley's lips against his is currently seared into his mind, brief as the kiss had been. He hates himself quite firmly for having enjoyed the contact, and loathes the fact that it's still occupying his thoughts.

"Uh, Cas? Anyone home?"

Castiel realizes that he's lost himself in thought. He snaps back to attention, clearing his throat slightly. The familiar pang of guilt hits him as he prepares to lie to Dean. "Well enough. I believe I may be getting closer to the weapons of Heaven." Or rather, he is getting closer to convincing Balthazar to give him the key to the armory that he stole from Virgil. "They would be advantageous in the fight against Raphael."

Dean nods. "Anything we can-"

"No," Castiel quickly cuts across him. It pains him every time the Winchester asks if there's something that he can do. A part of him wishes that he would've come to Dean all those months ago, gone to him for help instead of making a deal with the devil. Of course, he knew that if he had done that, he and Dean would both be dead, and Sam would still be in the Cage. "No, thank you. There's nothing to be done at this point."

Dean purses his lips, giving Castiel a searching look. "Is everything alright with you?" he asks tentatively. Castiel stops himself from freezing. Had Dean noticed something odd about his behavior? Crowley always told him that he was a terrible actor... stop thinking about Crowley! he mentally shouted at himself.

"I am well."

"Okay," Dean says slowly. "You just seem... I dunno. Off."

Castiel swallows, trying to disguise his anxiety. "The war has... taken it's toll on me, so to speak. Other than that, there is nothing amiss."

Dean shakes his head slightly, rising from the couch and making a beeline towards a six pack of beer resting on the night stand next to one of the beds. "Whatever you say, man," he calls over his shoulder. "Want a beer?"

It's been a long time since Dean's offered him a beer. In spite of his anger when he'd prayed to him, he can see that the hunter is more relaxed than he's been in quite some time. Castiel can only guess it is because he finally has the entirety of his brother back, Hell-scarred soul and all.

He wishes that he could stay, but he can't. Shortly before answering Dean's prayer, he had received a voicemail from Crowley claiming that he needed 'a chat with his favorite feather duster' and that he ought to make his way to Crowley's mansion 'toot-bloody-sweet'. He'd already stalled long enough, he needed to see what his partner required.

His partner... since when had he started thinking of Crowley as any more than a means to an end? Castiel just shook his head solemnly. "I'm sorry, I cannot. I, err..."

"Stuff to do in Heaven, yeah," Dean finishes for him, seeming slightly disappointed. "I get it. Good luck. Kick some ass for me."

Castiel nods, disappearing with a flutter of his wings and reluctantly leaving his friend behind.

* * *

Crowley sets down the blood spattered speculum onto the steel tray, sighing in annoyance. He strips of his gloves before depositing them into a nearby trashcan. He casts an irritated glance back at the remains of the alpha ghoul on his autopsy table. Bloody animal probably wouldn't have been able to find its own ass with a map, let alone Purgatory. It was well and truly clueless, and he'd grown bored of torturing the thing after a few hours. Another day wasted, and he was no closer to Purgatory.

He sighs, removing his phone from the pocket of his trousers and debating as to whether he should call Castiel again. Maybe he could just pray to the angel, but the indignity of doing it the last time he had done so is still itching at him, so he decides against it. He idly wonders if the angel even knew how to check his voicemail. He is guessing not.

Crowley is surprised when he hears the flutter of wings behind him. He turns, smirking. It's as if his thoughts summoned the angel. Castiel is standing there, and at first he's stiff as a board as per usual, but upon meeting his eyes the angel's shoulders relaxes slightly. Crowley suppresses a triumphant smile. Castiel is starting to feel at ease in his presence. He's lost track of points by now, but he's fairly sure that he's still beating out the Winchesters. He gives the credit to their kiss several days ago. If there's one thing he can do, it's kiss. Benefits of being former King of the Crossroads.

"Castiel. How are you today, my fine-feathered friend?" he asks, rolling down his sleeves. He slips his apron off, tossing it into a nearby garbage can. Even he can't get those stains out. He's going to need a new one.

Castiel frowns. "Well enough."

Crowley arches an eyebrow at him. "Oh, well. You have me convinced."

Castiel lets out a heavy, uncharacteristic sigh. "It is not of import." Crowley's good and curious now, so he sidles towards the angel, trying to read his minimal amount of body language. However, he doesn't have to, because he quickly catches the scent of Winchester on him. Booze and shame, essentially. Along with the scent of motel rooms that are barely suitable for the rats they're inhabited by.

"Big night out with the boys?" Crowley asks after he inhales. Castiel looks perplexed. "I can smell them on you." He taps the side of his nose. "Angels aren't the only ones with refined senses, darling."

"I was with Dean," Castiel admits, almost reluctantly. Crowley narrows his eyes at the angel. "He was upset about information I shared with Sam."

"Oh?"

"Sam... led me to believe that he was aware of the time he spent without a soul. Apparently he was not. I was under the impression that his memory was merely... hazy. I unintentionally informed him of everything I was aware that he'd done. Dean was not pleased by this."

Crowley holds back a sigh. So, that's what's got Castiel's trench coat in a twist. More drama with Squirrel and Moose. What were they, angel and hunters, or three teenage girls? He has a hard time discerning which most of the time. He shakes his head, leaning against the wall and watching Castiel carefully. "This bothers you." It isn't a question. Castiel frowns, but says nothing to the contrary. "What did he say?"

"Many things, but the most troubling beyond Sam's deception was that Dean noticed my distraction. He said that I seemed 'off'," he quoted.

"And what did you say?" Crowley asks sharply. The last thing in the bloody world he needs is for the Winchesters to find out about he and Castiel's torrid little affair. That would mean that they would discover that he is still very much alive. He didn't want the angel's hounds on his doorstep. He's just now getting used to his new home after having to abandon his monster prison in Minnesota. He prefers Phoenix, though. Much warmer.

"I told him that the war in Heaven is taking its toll on me. I believe that he was convinced." Castiel swallows, shoving his hands in the pockets of his trench coat. "Yet another lie."

Crowley crosses his arms, watching the angel intently. "Cas," he says, his voice approaching gentle. _Hand open_, he reminds himself. Castiel is becoming more loyal to him by the day. A few more proper moves on the game board and he'd practically have the angel in his lap. "We've been over this. Greater good."

"I know," Castiel says shortly. "But it is difficult, especially now that Dean has taken notice."

"What exactly is he taking notice of?" Crowley inquires, eyebrow arching. "I know you're a dreadful actor, but you've managed to do well enough so far. What's changed?"

Castiel freezes, his eyes darting off to the side. He can see the angel trying to think of an effective evasion. But what is he evading? The wires connect in Crowley's brain, and he realizes exactly what's changed. In spite of him, he grins. "Oooooooh," he purrs, striding towards Castiel with an almost bounce in his step. "It was the other day, wasn't it?"

Castiel blushes and Crowley laughs at the pink tint of the angel's cheeks and ear. "It is not amusing. What you did was not... not _right_."

Crowley tilts his head, stopping about two feet short of Cas. The fact that's getting to him like this, it tastes a little like victory. "Let me see if I follow. Working with a demon to bust open an ancient soul prison, that's aces. Kissing one, well, you can feel the hellfire licking at your ankles."

"I am an angel," Cas hissed, taking a step closer and looming over him. "Working with you is what must be done... fraternizing is another matter entirely. You are my opposite in every way. You are the very thing I would be expected to destroy under any other circumstance."

"You're just a can of excuses aren't you?" Crowley asks blandly. "I'm hearing a lot of reasons why it was wrong but no reason why you personally thought it was wrong. You're just spitting out what the other angels would say if they knew."

"They would condemn me."

"Goes without saying, doesn't it?" Crowley asks. "They'd condemn you for working with a demon. The details wouldn't matter to them, and you know that."

Castiel glares at Crowley, and for the first time in a surprising while, Castiel appears to be upset with him. He reluctantly decides to let the topic sit for a bit. Let Castiel stew in his own juices and allow him to over think anything and everything as per usual.

Cas opens his mouth to speak, but Crowley holds up his hand to cut him off. "A discussion for another time," he says. "We've got bigger fish to fry, at present."  
"That is an understatement," Castiel replies, and Crowley feels a hint of pride as he begins to wonder if the angel is starting to grasp sarcasm. Cas nods at the dead ghoul on the steel autopsy table, seeming a bit relieve that Crowley had changed the subject. "I assume that your interrogation of the alpha ghoul was fruitless."

Crowley snorts in irritation. "And how. I've been thinking, and we're running out of options. We've been at it for so long and we're barely any closer than when we started. Only differences is the hundreds of dead monsters I've got on my hands." He absent-mindedly carded a hand through his hair. "We've been playing about on the top of the food chain, but we haven't gone to the top of the pyramid. It's always the last place you look, isn't it?"

"That's redundant," Cas answers flatly. "Explain your meaning."

"Eve," Crowley says. "The Mother of All Monsters."


End file.
